


Pretty Woman

by kittykatdennings94



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, based off the movie, no powers universe, this is multichapter i just can't figure out how to mark it until i add a new chapter, updates will come as soon as my lil fingers type them out, yes darcy is richard gere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatdennings94/pseuds/kittykatdennings94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wrong turn onto Hollywood Boulevard changes two lives forever<br/>or<br/>Steve is Julia Roberts and Darcy is Richard Gere and this version of the story is way more sex-positive and far less shaming of sex workers.<br/>ALSO because Older!Darcy and Younger!Steve feels so right</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> T/W: Sex scenes, not too crazy but yeah, mentions of sex work, later mentions of drug use

Darcy was _tired._ She slumped in the driver’s seat of her Lotus Esprit and sighed, half-heartedly attempting to rid her body of its bone-deep exhaustion through sheer force of will.

It didn’t work, of course- it never had, not when she was a teenager fed up with her father’s genius and her mother’s self-sacrifice. She had years of tired buried under her skin, from her days as an unpaid intern in New Mexico to her days an heiress to a company she had never wanted to inherit.

Being Tony Stark’s daughter was a burden, that was for sure- a pain-in-the-ass, sure-fire-road-to-needing-therapy burden.

The money was nice, very nice, and not being in debt was still a pleasant new feeling for a 38-year-old woman in the 21st century.

The car was nice too, and she appreciated the shinier things in life, but the _responsibility,_ the struggle to gain power in her father’s club of toxic masculinity sapped Darcy from the moment she stepped foot in Stark Tower 10 years ago.

She had never meant to take over Stark Industries- that was her dad’s world, old money and arms-dealers, wearing suits that could pay for a semester of college.

Her mother, a sweet yet resilient music teacher, had raised Darcy by herself. Money had been tight, though Darcy remembered nothing but smiles on her mother’s face when she watched her daughter compete at debate tournaments and perform at piano recitals.

Culver University had been expensive as hell, but Lizzie Lewis had forced her daughter to apply herself, to study, to excel even when the dollar amounts overwhelmed her. Darcy found political science by accident, drawn into the world of NGOs and lobbying by her desire to do what was right.

Daddy dearest was nowhere to be seen when she was a kid- Tony and Lizzie divorced before Darcy could talk, and aside from one wildly-expensive birthday present per year, contact between father and daughter was non-existent.

By the time Darcy was 22 and interning for an astrophysicist, Tony Stark had been kidnapped by terrorists. Three months later, he was rescued. Doctors discovered a piece of shrapnel lodged into his heart, and gave Stark 4, maybe 5 weeks to live.

He passed away after 9 painful weeks, an over-achiever even in death. Darcy was in Norway at the time, watching her best friend (the astrophysicist) marry a Norse business tycoon. She didn’t acknowledge Tony’s death at all, except by taking copious shots of tequila at the wedding reception, supplied to her by the groom’s adopted younger brother.

Darcy awakened suddenly the next morning, in bed with said younger brother, to the shrill tones of her ringtone.

Within 5 minutes, Darcy was a billionaire. Stark had left her every dollar, every asset. Millions of dollars of art, a garage full of luxury cars, and at least a half a million dollars’ worth of bespoke suits- all in her name.

Darcy was rich.

That could have been enough- enough money for her mom to retire and live somewhere warm, where the sun shone bright and the winds blew gentle. 

But King Midas’ gold came to Darcy at a price- the price of an heir was an inheritance, and Tony had dropped his living, breathing Fortune-500 company into her unwilling lap.

Darcy was to be named CEO of Stark Industries, effective immediately should she desire to collect her inheritance. Tony Stark was a bastard, but he was a smart bastard.

She was trapped.

And that’s how she ended up in a Lotus Esprit ten years later, idling on Hollywood Boulevard at half past 11 at night.

* * *

 

Ian had broken up with her, in the middle of a soiree of course. Darcy had wanted- no, needed him with her in California while she took control of the dying carcass of the company once simply known as SHIELD. He had been her date for many dinner dates and cocktail parties, and he had once loved Darcy.

(Whether she loved him back was unknown to either party)

But tonight had been it for him.

“I speak to your secretary more than I speak to you, Darcy!” The British accent that had once drawn Darcy to Ian rang accusingly in her mind on loop.

“I have my own life, too Darcy!”

Ian’s timing couldn’t have been worse, it was a very important week for her, she really needed him there.

“You just think I’m at your beck and call, Darce! I’m your lover, not your employee!”

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, so Darcy switched gears and began to roll forward.

Lost as she was, Darcy wasn’t looking for anything in particular. She couldn’t help but scan the shadowy figures on the street corners. Unfocused, she continued to cruise until a particularly tall shadow came into focus by her half-opened passenger window. Without thinking, Darcy called out, “Would you mind helping me out with some directions?”

Darcy hoped she hadn’t solicited a murderer for a task she could have used Google Maps for.

“Hey sugar, lookin’ for a date?”

A youthful face peered bemusedly at Darcy. Lamely, she retorted, “No, I wanna find Beverly Hills. Can you give me directions?”

The owner of the face, glowing with youth and sunny blonde hair, laughed.

“Sure. For five bucks.”

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Price just went up to ten bucks.” The blonde face twitched with amusement, and something in Darcy softened.

Half-heartedly, she claimed “You can’t charge me for directions.”

Blondie chuckled, dark lashes fluttering. “I can do anything I want, baby. I ain’t lost.”

Darcy ignored her better judgment and gave in. “Alright. Okay, you win. I lose. Got change for a hundred?”

The blonde glanced over his shoulder once, then hurriedly replied, “For a hundred… I’ll show you the way personally. Even show you where the stars live.”

“I’ve already seen where Stallone lives, up the street.”

She paused, waiting again as Blondie glanced over his broad shoulder. She decided, then, to unlock the door and gesture to the leather passenger seat.

Blondie didn’t stop to do more than wave impatiently at whoever was shouting at him from down the block, and slid into the seat, filling the cramped car with the scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke.

“I guess it’s a tough time to be a sex-worker, huh?” Darcy asked, biting the inside of her cheek. Blondie was _very_ handsome, and at the moment, looking very frustrated with her.

“Look, I use condoms always. I get checked out once a month at the free clinic. Not only am I better in the sack than an amateur, I’m probably safer.” The harsh blue and red of an open sign illuminated Blondie’s earnest eyes, unmarred by wrinkles. He couldn’t be more than 24 or 25 years old, but Darcy chose not to care for the moment.

“Ya know, Blondie, I like your pitch. It’s very good- should have that printed on your business card, in fact.”

Blondie’s eyes narrowed and Darcy felt bad, almost, as he pouted. “If you’re makin’ fun of me- I don’t like it. I don’t like bullies.”

(Darcy didn’t like bullies either, back when she was young and broke. Now she maintained her fortune by being a bully.)

 “No, no I’m not making fun of you. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond after that, falling into a silence that was empty and full of a whole lot of- something.

“So, what’s your name? What do you go by?”

Blondie looked thoughtful for a moment, and responded “Steve. My name is Steve.”

“Steve. Huh.” Darcy rolled the name around on her tongue- it was a plain name, didn’t quite fit the Adonis fiddling with the Bluetooth controls on her dashboard, but it felt like _his._ Names had power. A name like Stark meant money, influence, control. She changed her last name when she became CEO, so the Board of Trustees would understand her dedication to the family business. Darcy Lewis died, Darcy Stark emerged, and it was like the former had never existed.

“Mind if I turn on the heat?” Steve’s deep voice surprised Darcy, but she nodded. “If you can figure out the controls, be my guest. This thing’s built like a super-computer.”

(Picking up a man in her car was ridiculous, picking up a man in her car alone at night in a strange city was suicidal- Oh.)

Steve rolled his eyes and turned on the seat-heaters. The warmth permeated Darcy’s tense muscles, releasing some of the discomfort in her back.

“So which motel are you stayin’ at?”

“Hotel.” Darcy corrected Steve without thinking, and she marveled at her own snobbery for a half-second.

Steve was easy still, amiable. “Okay then. Which hotel?”

“Regent Beverly Wilshire. I bet you know it.”

Annoyed, Steve side-eyed Darcy. “Yeah, I peed in the fountain there once. Gimme a break!”

Darcy glanced over once again as Steve snapped his chewing-gum loudly. He really was a good-looking man…

“Where ya from, Miss?”

“Originally Connecticut, then New York.”

The conversation stalled, for a moment. Darcy wanted to ask Steve how he’d fallen into sex-work, whether he was an addict, whether he was safe. She was ashamed of her judgment, and asked the least offensive question she could think of.

“Do you like what you do, Steve?”

“It pays.”

Steve’s body was closed off- Darcy knew too much about body-language to press further, and doesn’t ask why, for god’s sake, he didn’t try day-jobs or going back to college.

(She didn’t used to be this judgmental, she used to advocate for the rights of sex-workers)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Steve. I keep doing that, don’t I?”

Steve’s hand automatically went to his mouth as he began to bite at his nail.

“It’s an ugly habit, biting your nails.”

(Darcy didn’t know why she had to say that, it was rude and obnoxious to point out an obvious nervous tic)

“You don’t know habits, f’you think this is ugly, miss.”

Steve placed his large hands back in his lap, though, and gazed blankly out the window.

After a few more blocks passed, he turned to Darcy.  
“Okay, let me out. I need to get back to work.”

Darcy pulled over to a curb and stopped the car.

“F’you stay on this street, you’ll hit Beverly Hills.”

“What do you charge for company, Steve?”

Something akin to surprise flashed on his face, but he quickly schooled his features into what Darcy was beginning to consider Steve’s Serious Business face.

“Company would cost you… a hundred dollars.”

“For the whole night?”

“For an hour.”

Darcy laughed aloud. “You’re joking!”

Serious Business face in place, Steve primly responded, “I never joke about money.”

(The thought sobered Darcy- any kid this young turning tricks had money troubles. She was privileged, she’d never known the danger of hunger or late-rent)

“I never joke about money either, Steve. Still, it is a pretty steep price, right?”

Steve gently placed his hand on Darcy’s knee, warm through the knit of her leggings.

“It’s worth every penny, miss.”

Darcy’s cheeks flushed, as she asked “Steve, how much to put you up for an entire night?”

Leaning back, Steve laughed. “You couldn’t afford it.”

Darcy bit her lip to hide her snort of laughter. “Try me, cowboy.”

“Three hundred.”  

“Fine.”

Steve smiled then, slow and sexy, and Darcy felt strangely at ease.

 Then that deep voice was back, purring like the Lotus’ engine.  
“What’s your name, lover?”

“Darcy. My name is Darcy.”

“Darcy… you got it!”

Grinning, she unfastened her belt and stepped out of the car.

“Get in, Steve. Driver’s side. You _can_ drive stick, right?”

Steve’s grin wasn’t sexy this time, but it did dazzle her in the dimness of night.

“Better believe it.”

“Then let’s go. It’s worth three hundred just so I don’t have to drive.”

Before Darcy had settled into the passenger seat. Steve had switched gears and was peeling out onto the street.

* * *

 

The Lotus’s tires screamed when Steve braked in front of the Regent Beverly Wilshire. Darcy took a moment to catch her breath, and finally got a good look at Steve’s clothes in the white light of the hotel’s valet lobby.

“Ah- Steve. There’s a rain coat in the back seat of the car. You might want to put that on.”

“Why?”

“You may feel more… comfortable. This isn’t the kind of place that rents rooms by the hour.”

“You mean they don’t have hookers here.”

Steve’s expression was almost sad, but Darcy was more concerned with what would happen if someone said something about him to his face.

“They have hookers everywhere, Steve, but if this hotel has hookers, they don’t look like they’re…”

“Off the boulevard.”

“Exactly.”

Darcy felt a twist of something akin to guilt as she got out of the car, but it disappeared as soon as Steve reached for raincoat in the back seat.

His torso was impossibly proportioned, broad shoulders and chest tapering down into a slim waist, with long, jean clad legs that were tucked into boots held together with safety pins. A tight white tee and a worn leather belt accentuated Steve’s fit build in a way that had Darcy feeling weak in the knee.

(And yeah, she didn’t feel bad about forcing Ian’s spare rain coat on him anymore)

Steve walked into the hotel, tying the belt of the coat.

“There, now I’m a hooker in a raincoat. Happy?”

Darcy ignored his snark and inhaled the familiar scent of lemon and verbena polish. The hotel was old, and famous, and it still meant something to stay in a room there for a full week. Darcy watched Steve’s eyes widen in awe at the glimmer of jewels on women's throats and the fall of the fur over their shoulders. It was late, almost 1, but for the elite the night had just begun.

After a minute Steve swallowed his surprise and matter-of-factly took Darcy’s arm. “Let’s go.”

The elevator attendant eyed Darcy first, then Steve, before he greeted Darcy with a respectful, “Good evening ma’am.”

“Evening. Penthouse.”

Steve mock-whispered, “Penthouse. My, my.”

The elevator glided gently up to the top of the hotel, doors opening to reveal an opulent hallway with a single, heavy wooden door at its end.

“Good evening, Ms. Stark.”

“Evening.”

Darcy led Steve to the door, unlocking it and allowing him to follow her.

The suite was the best in Beverly Hills, according to the fabulously wealthy.

Steve seemed to agree, as he wandered past the sunken living room, straight to the massive windows. The view of the city was breathtaking, even to Darcy’s jaded eyes.

For the first time, Steve was speechless, the expression on his face unguarded and wondrous.

(Darcy used to be like that. Darcy used to feel wonder at things)

Grabbing the phone, Darcy dialed the front desk.

“Room Service. Steve, what do you drink?”

Steve barely turned from the view to reply, “Diet Coke”.

“Send up a bottle of Crystal champagne.”

“Can I have some chips?”

Darcy ignored Steve and ordered a bowl of strawberries as well.

Steve made his way into the living area, finally.

Unable to resist, Darcy asked, “Impressed?”

“You kidding me? I come here all the time. Matter of fact, they do _so_ rent this room out by the hour!”

Darcy smiled, and sat down in a comfortable armchair. She leaned back and surveyed Steve properly, for the first time all evening.

Steve smiled down at her, and asked “Well, now you have me for the night. What are you going to do with me?”

Rubbing the bridge of her nose where her glasses left marks, Darcy paused. “You know what? I don’t quite know. I hadn’t planned this. Any of this.”

“Do you plan everything?”

“Always.”

“Well the meter’s running, miss, it’s your money. Speakin’ of, cash will do. In advance.”

Darcy laughed. “Fair enough.” She rose, reaching for her purse and pulling out a billfold. Standing over Steve’s now-seated lap, she dropped three crisp one-hundred dollar bills.

Steve stared at the bills for a moment, then realized that Darcy was still standing over him. He reached for her skirt’s zipper at her waist, but Darcy turned away sharply.

“Let’s talk first, Steve.”

“Right! So, in town for business?”

Taking off her blazer, Darcy nodded. “Uhuh.”

“You a lawyer?”

Darcy pushed her glasses up her nose and asked, “What makes you say that?”

Coyly, Steve teased, “You got that sharp look to ya. Like a predator.”

“Sounds like you’ve known a lot of lawyers.”

“I’ve known a lot of everybody.”

A knock at the door broke the conversation. Darcy rose to get the door, but Steve waved a hand at her.  
“Hey, I might as well make myself useful.”

The waiter stood at attention at the door when Steve opened it gaily.

Stiffly, the waiter asked, “Where do you want it?”

Steve turned to Darcy, mockingly parroting the waiter.

Darcy took pity on the poor server, and gestured to the coffee table before her.

“Here’s fine.”

The waiter arranged the tray, then headed to the door. He stopped, and stared intently at Steve for a moment.

Steve drawled (he really was from Brooklyn), “What are you lookin’ at?”

He shut the door in the waiter’s face, and Darcy hid a laugh. “I think he wanted you to tip him.”

“Sorry. Doubt he had change for a hundred.”

He watched as Darcy twirled the champagne bottle for a moment, before she deftly removed the cork.

“You got a husband? Boyfriend?”

Darcy poured chilled champagne into a flute and handed it to Steve, who sniffed the beverage.

“Ah- used to. Boyfriend is currently moving out of my apartment as we speak.”

Steve finally took a sip, nodding approvingly.

“It’s a very good year,” Darcy quipped, pointing to the bottle.

“Ooh thank god.”

Steve took to the champagne, and sassed Darcy when she suggested that he bite a strawberry before he finished the glass.

“Why?"

“It brings out the flavor of the champagne.”

“Well then. Jesus, you’re acting like you’re seducin’ some boy toy you picked up in a dance club.”

Looking down her glasses in her best approximation of a librarian, Darcy admonished Steve.  
“Come on… the meter’s running, cooperate, Blondie.”

A moment passed before Steve ate a strawberry. The red juice stained his already pink lips. Steve sipped his champagne and licked the juice off his lips. His dark blue eyes never left Darcy’s face.

Darcy cleared her suddenly husky throat with the dregs of her champagne glass.

“You know Steve… you really are a very beautiful man.”

Steve leaned closer, eyes still locked on Darcy.

“You’re a real sweet-talker, huh?”

They leaned closer to one another, Steve’s wet lips glistening in the lamplight. Darcy was about to kiss him, when Steve spoke up. “Not on the lips.”

Darcy froze, but Steve brought her head down to the column of his neck instead.

* * *

 

Darcy lay on her back, Steve astride her. His hands stroked her breasts, her stomach, as he gently moved back and forth inside her. Their positions had switched, Steve was in control, and Darcy felt slightly lost in the sensations running through her taut body.

Darcy laid a hand on Steve’s abs, and asked “What do you like?”

Steve grinned, never stopping his thrusts. “If I wanted you to get me off, doll, I’d pay you three hundred bucks. Just lay back and let me drive.”

He picked up the pace and began to rub between her legs simultaneously, and Darcy felt her body tremble. Overwhelmed, she rolled Steve over as best as she can onto his back, and began to ride freely.

(She felt… not small, not bad, but less like an embittered CEO and more like a woman having really great sex, which was something Darcy hadn’t felt… ever.)

A few hours later, Darcy’s eyes fluttered open. Steve’s arm was wrapped around her breasts, gentle snores emanating from his sleeping form.

The lamp was still on, and Darcy could see her clothes cluttering the floor by the bed. Her three thousand dollar boots were kicked haphazardly by the armoire, while Steve’s clothes were neatly folded atop an armchair. The contrast touched something in Darcy, sad and uncomfortable.

She slid out from under Steve and padded into the bathroom naked. The shower was scalding hot, and Darcy let the water run over her face until she felt alert again.

Ian was probably gone by then, along with his tea kettle and his annoying Mac laptop (she was a Stark for god’s sake, no Apple products belonged under her roof).

The ache between her thighs felt good, albeit unfamiliar. She hadn’t been fucked like that in years, maybe never. It was good with Steve. She was glad she’d picked him up.

God knows she needed something good in her life. Business was fine, of course, but the Board of Trustees was breathing down her neck about pinning down Margaret Carter, owner and CEO of SHIELD Inc., in a deal, as swiftly as possible. There was talk about Carter putting up a fight, but Darcy knew she had the woman cornered. She had a senator ready to cut off Carter if she tried to buy out the company herself- Darcy’s lawyer and closest thing to a friend at Stark Industries, Obadiah Stane, had made sure of that. Stane had been around since Tony’s teenage, and was one of few people she trusted when it came to operations. Darcy had relied heavily on Obie when she first came on as CEO, and the older man had supported her immensely.

Still, it was lonely. She felt pressure, so much pressure- not just to perform as CEO, but to be better than Tony. To build schools and contracts instead of missiles and tanks, to be more than the daughter of the Merchant of Death.

Darcy dressed in one of the hotel’s robes and re-entered the bedroom, where Steve slept.

His face seemed more open in sleep, innocent like a young boy’s. Darcy gazed at him for another minute before turning to the living room. There was purity in the man on her bed. It felt difficult to stay in the room with it a minute longer.

Steve’s eyes fluttered open to see Darcy’s retreating figure settle down into an armchair. He watched for a few minutes as she booted up her laptop and began to read contracts. Slowly, Steve fell back asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a rough day and meets his guardian angel.

The morning light filtered through filmy white curtains, shining onto Steve’s face brightly enough to wake him from his deep sleep.

“I know Carter knows that we’re coming after her company, Obie! She may be in her 80s but she’s sharper than you think.”

Still half-asleep, Steve snuggled into a pillow and listened to Darcy argue persistently with whoever Obie was. Engrossed in her conversation, she opened the door to a waiter who rolled in a tray of something delicious-smelling.

Living in the lap of luxury certainly was an easy taste to acquire, and Steve had gotten comfortable- champagne, strawberries, and three crisp hundred dollar bills to boot. Thinking of the money reminded Steve of Bucky, probably fending off old man Hodge- they were late on rent again, but the money he’d earned last night would make up for any difference.

That is, unless Bucky had blown his share of the rent money on drugs again. Steve loved the man like a brother, but watching his friend struggle with addiction was difficult, especially coupled with the dangers of hooking.

Reluctant to leave the soft embrace of the bed, Steve stretched his arms and took stock of himself, the way he did every time he spent the night with a customer. No bruises, thankfully, but Darcy had left a very pleasant-to-recall hickey on his bicep. She was one of his nicer customers, he thought. Real nice-looking, kind, though a bit rude at times. Steve could see that the dame was sad, even when she smiled and thanked him for an excellent orgasm.

(Who did that? Most customers took the orgasms for granted, but Darcy thanked him every time, and tried to pay him back in turn)

“Carter wants to meet, and I’m willing to do it, Obie. Stop dicking around and think about it- she’s desperate.”

Steve went to the bathroom and took a leak, pausing after to wash his face and use the hotel mouthwash.

“Stane, everyone knows you’re my muscle. I’ll meet with her alone, make it social. Tell Carter I’ll meet her for dinner, if you can arrange it.”

Darcy glanced up at Steve as he padded out of the bedroom and smiled broadly, until something “Obie” said made her grimace with irritation.

“We’re not the damn mafia, Obie, she isn’t going to accuse us of blackmail. Listen, I’ll see you at the office. Bye.”

Without waiting for a reply, Darcy ended the call and turned to fully face Steve, who stood uncertainly at the bedroom door.

“Morning, Steve.”

“Morning Darcy- you didn’t wake me. I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

“No hurry. Would you like some breakfast?”

Steve’s stomach rumbled treacherously, but he still replied, “Only if you do.”

Darcy gestured to the table. Still somewhat unsure, Steve sat at the dining table and tucked a leg beneath himself absent-mindedly.

Darcy sat across from him and began to serve breakfast, which looked and smelled delicious.

“Did you sleep well, Steve?”

“Yeah, uh, too good. Woke up, n’ forgot where I was.”

Darcy quirked an eyebrow. “Occupational hazard?”

Steve’s hackles rose immediately, but the congenial smile on Darcy’s face as she buttered a croissant reassured him that she really was just teasing. Most women who hired men for sex had real superiority complexes, and loved to rub it in Steve’s face that they had paid for his time.

Swallowing a bite of his eggs, Steve asked, “Where’d you go last night?”

“The couch. I had some work to finish.” Darcy opened her mouth to keep talking, but hesitated.

“About last night, Steve…”

“Oh, you were the best I ever had, baby. I was real beside myself with joy.”

Darcy cracked a real grin. “Mmhm, I’m sure.”

“I just hope it was worth three hundred bucks.”

Darcy tried to hide her laugh with a sip of coffee. “I’d say you give a good dollar value.”

Steve continued eating, tucking into breakfast with renewed appetite.

“So, do you ever enjoy it?”

He looked up before he replied. “I like bein’ with people, if that’s what you’re askin’. Not that I trust ‘em.”

“Why not?”

“Occupational hazard.”

Darcy chuckled as Steve primly poured himself a glass of champagne- she’d ordered a bottle with breakfast after she’d seen how much damage he’d done to the Crystal the previous night.

Delicately gripping the stem of the flute with his long fingers, Steve asked, “What do you do?”

“I buy companies.”

“No shit. They expensive?”

Darcy rolled her eyes and almost smiled.

“The one I’m buying this week is worth five hundred million.”

Steve’s mouth gaped as he blurted out, “Dollars?”

Darcy nodded. Steve, impressed, took another sip of champagne. “You, miss, are in the major leagues. Your mother must be real proud.”

Oddly pleased with the compliment, Darcy poured Steve another glass of champagne.

* * *

 

Steve sat curled up in an armchair in the closet. The “closet” was about as big as the room he shared with Bucky, and was filled with over a dozen suits and blouses. Shoes lined the floor of the closet, as did handbags and zipped-up dry cleaning bags.

Half-dressed, Darcy struggled to apply liquid eyeliner in front of a floor-length mirror.

Feeling small, Steve queried Darcy some more about her work. “So what do you do with the companies once you buy them?”

“I sell them.”

Steve uncurled from the chair and took the eyeliner from Darcy, wiping her efforts off with a bit of spit and tissue from the nearby dresser.

“At ease, let me do that. Part of the all-night services.”

Darcy relaxed as Steve’s steady hands worked on her face, and continued to explain.

“Well, by breaking up the company’s assets-“

“What are assets?”

“Assets are anything of value a company owns. Sometimes the parts are more valuable than the whole. By selling them off, I make a profit.”

Steve brushed Darcy’s eyebrows with a spoolie and retorted, “Sorta like stealing a car and stripping it for parts, huh?”

“Well, before I took over, my company used to make bombs that arms dealers would buy in the black market and use on innocent people in the middle east. We’re slightly more innocent now, don’t you think?”

Steve didn’t reply, instead focusing on painting Darcy’s lips with a creamy brick-red lip stick.

“There, see? Now your eyes and lips are balanced, your whole face looks complete now.”

(She had nice blue eyes, lighter than his but framed with thick brown lashes. Her skin was smooth, beginning to show signs of age, with laugh lines and tiny crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. And her mouth- that was a Mouth, with a capital M)

Darcy peered in the mirror in surprise. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

  
“I fucked the drill team in high school. Tsk. I had a grandma whose hands got shaky. She liked makeup on Sundays for church. Hey, mind if I take a swim in your tub before I take off?”

“Don’t drown.”

Steve headed to the tub, and moments later Darcy followed.

The tub had already begun to fill in a torrential rush, and Steve was excited by the prospect of a bath that he could actually fit in. “You could hold a pep rally in here!”

Darcy’s phone rang shrilly once again. She answered, knowing before she picked up that it was Obie.

_“It’s me, Obie. She’s in for dinner, Darce. All set.”_

Steve explored the bathroom as the tub filled up, pausing curiously at the bidet.

“Alright, Obie, thanks.”

Darcy stifled a laugh as Steve accidentally sprayed water on his face.

_“I still don’t like you going alone Darcy.”_

“I’m a big girl, Obie.”

Steve was now poking around the soaps and lotions littering the side of the tub.

_“Let me at least get you a date, Darcy. Make it look more social.”_

Darcy watched as Steve sniffed a bottle of bubblebath. His eyes asked her if it was okay for him to use some. She nodded.

_“Darcy, you there? Did you hear what I said?”_

“I’m here, Obie.”

_“I know a lot of nice boys, Darcy.”_

Steve poured the bubble bath into the tub, biting his lip in a way that made Darcy’s stomach turn pleasantly.

“I already have a boy, Obie.” Darcy hung up, and turned back to Steve, who sat contentedly in the scented water, fiddling with the TV remote.

“All right. How much for the week?”

Steve nearly dropped the remote into the water, so Darcy grabbed it from his hands and set it to the side.

“What?”

“I’m in town til’ Saturday.”

Steve stared blankly at Darcy as though she spoke a different language.   
“Do- you- want- to- stay- here- for- the- week?”

It took Steve a moment to respond, as he stirred his hand in the pool of bubbles.

“It’d cost you.”

“Of course. How much?”

Steve paused- it had to be enough to _really_ change things, to get Bucky away from the crack and Hodge the landlord.

“Five full nights… days too?”

Darcy nodded.

“Ten thousand.”

“Steve, may I point out five more nights at three hundred a night is only 1,500.”

“But you want days, too.”

Darcy nodded again. “Eight thousand.”

“Seven.”

“Done!”

“Holy shit.” Steve ducked down into the bubbles to collect himself, then emerged, water streaming down his face and chest. He turned on his sexy smile and leaned in towards Darcy.

“Doll, you got it. I will treat you like a princess. Anything you want, anything- you got it.”

Darcy cleared her throat. “I’m not just talking about sex.”

“Look lady, I’ll treat you so nice you’ll never want to let me go, okay?”

“Seven thousand for five days, Steve. And I will let you go.”

* * *

 

Darcy stood in the living room, reviewing her files a final time before heading for the office. Steve followed, wrapped in a robe and smelling like gardenias.

“I’ll be out most of the day.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a money clip. Darcy peeled off several bills and handed them to Steve.

“I want you to go out and buy some decent clothes.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the sight of the cash in his hands.

“Nothing too flashy, nothing too tightly-cut. Conservative, classy, alright?”

Darcy grabbed her things and walked to the door. Steve followed, again, and quipped “Yeah, you want me to dress like your high class boyfriend. You're wasting your dough though. All I'm gonna do is laze around the hotel.  As a matter of fact, I may never get out of that tub.”

Darcy started to exit, then turned around once again.

“Think again, Blondie. I’m taking you out to an important dinner with me tonight.”

The door closed in Steve’s face.

“What? Are you fuckin’ insane?”

Halfway down the hall, Darcy grinned to herself.

“Probably.”

* * *

 

Steve lay in the tub, stretched out and languid in the hot water.

(A tub that accommodated his height was definitely a goal for his future)

The TV was on, but he kept flipping channels. A whole week of fancy soap and bubble baths was an overwhelming thought. Plus, there was the thought of the money.

“Seven thousand dollars.”

Steve submerged himself into the water, and then popped back up, laughing.

“Seven thousand!”

Reaching for the cordless phone by the tub, Steve dialed Bucky’s cell number from memory.

He waited as the phone rang. Just as he was about to disconnect the call, a familiar voice rumbled, “’Lo.”

“Hey Buck! Where’ve you been?”

“Asleep. You woke me. You okay, Stevie?”

“Buck, listen, the lady in the car last night, in the Lotus- I’m at this hotel, the Regent Beverly Wilshire, it’s this fuckin’ unbelievable place, and she’s hired me for a whole week, and Buck, listen, she’s paying me seven thousand bucks! We can get out of this apartment, we can get out of this town! We can do anything!”

Steve waited for Bucky’s reply.

“Hey bud, you there?”

“Why’d she want you?”

Steve bristled at the question, because it was one he’d asked himself a dozen times since he’d woken up that morning.

“I dunno… she just does.”

“I'm sorry, Stevie.  Hodge has been on my back. Did you get the money up front like I taught ya'?

“I got three hundred for last night, plus cash for clothes. Now listen, I’m gonna leave an envelope with my share of the rent, plus money for that creep Carlo. Spend it on drugs and I’ll tear my hair out, ya hear?”

Bucky, quiet again, paused before responding. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll be over soon.”

“Hey Buck… where do I go for good clothes? Good stuff, for her.”

Steve could hear his friend brighten over the line. “In Beverly Hills? Rodeo Drive, baby!”

* * *

 

The sunlight glinted against Steve’s cheap sunglasses as he navigated the pedestrians on Rodeo Drive. The store windows were spotless, displaying bright sundresses and polo shirts, and Steve couldn’t figure out where to begin.

He slowly walked down the sidewalk, peering carefully into each boutique window as he tried to muster the courage to enter a store. Steve noticed an old woman whispering to her friend as they passed him by, and ignored it. The uniformed guards in front of many of the stores stared at him, obviously suspicious of his presence. Steve’s gut roiled with apprehension as he finally opened the door to a smaller boutique with several men’s suits in the display.

Steve had scarcely entered the store when he felt the burn of the salesman’s disapproving glare.

“May I help you?” The salesman’s cool tone belied his polite words, but Steve tried to win the guy over.

“I’m just lookin’, thanks.”

Steve carefully made his way around the shop, gingerly feeling cashmere sweaters and linen shirts like they were fine china. He found a suit he particularly liked, right as the salesman approached him and asked, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Um… something conservative.”

“Yes, conservative.”

Something in the salesman’s tone seemed off, but Steve paid it no mind.

“You have great apparel. How much is this blazer?”

The salesman, whose nametag read ‘Phil’, shook his head.   
“I don’t think it would fit you.”

(Steve’s stomach roiled with anxiety and anger. He understood what those words meant.)

“I didn’t ask if it would fit, sir, I asked how much it was.”

Steve’s entire body clenched in anger as he stared back at the unblinking salesman.

“What is it with you?!”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m _going_ to spend money, mister.”

Phil casually buffed his nails against his shirt, then looked back at Steve.

“I don’t think we have anything for you here. You’re clearly in the wrong place.”

Steve was at a loss for words. He would not- could not believe it, so he turned on his heel and strode towards the door. He stopped before exiting, pivoting once to flip off ‘Phil’, and yanked the door open to the shock of passerby.

* * *

 

Long legs eating up the sidewalk, Steve tried to quell the nausea rising in his throat. He tried to control himself, but two young men his own age laughed at him as he zoomed by.

Suddenly Steve felt uncomfortably exposed in his worn jeans and tight tee-shirt. Hurrying, he nearly jogged back to the hotel.

As he entered the lobby, the pervasive feeling of being exposed strengthened. The sight of luxury, plush carpets and polished wood, meant nothing to him anymore. Paranoid and desperate, Steve headed straight for the elevators.

At the front desk, the hotel manager spotted Steve and neatly crossed the lobby to stop him.

“May I help you, sir?”

(Those were the exact words that asshole at the boutique had used to cut him down)

“I’m just going back to my room.”

“You’re a guest here?”

Steve read the man’s nametag- ‘Jarvis’- and tried to calm himself.

“I’m here with a friend, Mr. Jarvis.”

“And who might that friend be?”

“Miss- ah, Miss Darcy- uh…” Steve hesitated- he didn’t know Darcy’s full name, couldn’t verify his presence-

“He knows me!” Steve pointed a shaky finger at the elevator operator from the previous night.

Mr. Jarvis smoothly waved over the Operator, and asked, “Do you know this young man?”

“Yes, sir. He’s with Ms. Stark.”

Mr. Jarvis’ brow jumped with surprise but it quickly smoothed.

“Ms. Stark?”

“Yes, he apparently joined her last night.”

Mr. Jarvis waved the Operator away. “Why don’t you come with me for just a moment, for a chat?”  
Firmly, he led Steve to his office.

Once Steve was seated in yet another armchair, Mr. Jarvis leaned against his desk and surveyed the terrified young man before him.

“What’s your name?”

“Steve.”

“Mr. Steve… things that go on in other hotels don’t go on at the Beverly Regent Wilshire.”

Steve sat, motionless and silent.

“However, Ms. Stark is a… special customer. And we like to think of our special customers as friends. Thus, we can overlook the fact that she did not sign you in as a fellow guest. I’m assuming you are a relative?”

Steve found himself nodding.

“I thought so… you must be her…?”

“Nephew.”

Mr. Jarvis nodded as if it all made sense now.

“I see. Naturally, when Ms. Stark leaves, I won’t see you in this hotel again.”

Steve bit his lower lip and nodded.

“Good. We are in an understanding. Also… Mr. Steve, I’d encourage you to dress more… conservatively.”

Steve’s face screwed up in anger as he tried not to cry.

“That’s what I was trying to do!”

The tears fought their way out of Steve’s eyes as he pulled the bedraggled wad of cash Darcy had given him out of his pocket.

“I was trying to get some other clothes… but they wouldn’t let me… they made me feel like shit!”

Steve stopped talking, unable to continue. Mr. Jarvis picked up the wad of money, smoothed it, and placed it back in front of Steve. He then picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“Men’s clothing. Clint, please.”

Steve stared gape mouthed at Mr. Jarvis.                                  

“Ah, Clint, hello! This is Edwin Jarvis over at the Beverly Regent Wilshire. Oh, Clint, you make me blush! I’d like to ask you a favor, if you don’t mind. I’m sending over someone. His name is Steve. He’s a guest of ours, a very special guest.”

His no-nonsense tone reassured Steve, as he continued his conversation.

“Yes, he’s out of town and needs a little help shopping.”

“Yes, he’ll be right over. Thanks ever so much, Clint. Good bye.”

Steve couldn’t help but relax as Mr. Jarvis leaned over. “There you are. If you have any other problems, come ask for me personally. I’m Mr. Jarvis.”

Mischievous, Steve grinned. “Eddie.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escargot, haircuts, and sex, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mild smut at end of chap :)  
> the movie isn't smutty enough for me so i plan to add LOADS MORE

Darcy led Obie and a few of her underlings as they explored the empty SHIELD shipyard. Thirty years ago, ships of all varieties had been built there. Peggy Carter had single-handedly taken over all of the US government’s naval contracts in the late 70s, alongside her own personal mad scientist- Howard _Stark._

It was of utmost importance that this deal remained quiet, in Obadiah’s opinion. To capture and sell the assets of a company once owned by Darcy’s grandfather would seem heartless in the eyes of the press.

The yard itself was void of employees, but massive cranes and machinery were still in place. One of the underlings- Grant Ward, annoying brown-nose- began to explain to Darcy what she already knew.

“This is the jewel in Carter’s crown.” Gesturing expansively towards the yard, Ward droned about the possibilities. “We can strip the heavy equipment- some of these cranes, the Japanese have been salivating for.”

Obie rolled his eyes at Darcy, but responded seriously to Ward’s ramblings. “This is prime industrial property, as well. We’re straddling the Port of Long Beach and Los Angeles.”

Darcy peered closely at the yard.  “What’s that long building over there?”, she asked, pointing to the edge of the port.

Ward shrugged. “Storage, I’d guess Ms. Stark.”

Darcy shook her head, and walked closer to the building. “Not with those smokestacks, it’s not.”

Ward began to scroll on a StarkPad, searching the notes for an answer.

The day was warm, and Darcy had already sweat through her suit-jacket. Sometimes she really missed the cold, dry winds of New Mexico, but she had a feeling about this deal…

“I got it! Mr. Stane, Ms. Stark, this building is currently storage, but it used to be a smelting plant. They shut it down right after World War II.” Ward excitedly walked off in the direction of the building, presumably to investigate. Darcy turned to Stane, a familiar smile spreading across her face. “I want our lawyers to check the toxic waste licenses on them immediately. I want to know if the permits are still valid, and what kind of limits are on them.”

Darcy turned on her heel and Stane followed. “Jesus, yes. If the permits are still in effect, this place is worth even more of a fortune that we had thought.”

Headed back for her car, Darcy called over her shoulder, “What time’s dinner tonight, Obie?”

“Eight. Carter’s bringing her niece- real bright kid, watch out for her. Who’s this boy you’re bringing?”

“No one you know!” Darcy slid into the Lotus and started the car.

* * *

 

Steve exited the elevator at Saks Fifth Avenue, and entered the men’s department. Clint, a friendly-looking man with a slightly squished-up face spotted him, and quickly crossed to greet him.

“You must be Steve! Let’s look at you.”

Clint appraised Steve with a professional eye. “Where you from, sir?”

Steve hesitated, but answered clearly. “Brooklyn.”

“No wonder. For starters, jeans that acid-washed are horrid, even if you have the legs to carry them. What are you plans while you’re in town?”

Scuffing his boot on the shined marble floor, Steve wracked his brain for an appropriate answer.

“Dinner? At a fancy restaurant?”

“You’ll want a suit then. Turn. You have a killer figure, Steve- great shoulders, but that waist is _seriously_ nipped. We might have to tailor some slacks from you, but no matter. Need shoes?”

Steve examined his boots and shook his head no.

Clint grinned and called out, “Natasha! We’ll need shoes!”

Half-jogging towards a rail of suits and shirts, Clint began to pull out options. Steve followed, trepidation and excitement warring for dominance in his gut.

* * *

 

Mr. Jarvis was rebuking the world’s laziest cook when Steve nearly skipped into the lobby of the Regent Beverly Wilshire.

“I got a suit!” The errant cook escaped Mr. Jarvis’ admonitions as an excited Steve bounced up to the check-in desk.

Eyeing the tiny hole in Steve’s worn-out tee-shirt, Mr. Jarvis sighed. “I had rather hoped that you would be wearing it now, sir.”

“No sir, I didn’t want it getting messed before tonight! I got shoes too, wanna see?”

Jarvis saw the unadulterated joy in the young man’s eyes and gave up on acting stern.

“I’m sure they’re quite dashing, Steven.”

Shyly, Steve held out his hand to Jarvis.

“They were real decent to me there… they treated me, well, y’know, nice. Thanks, Eddie.”

Mr. Jarvis tried to hide his wince at the nickname and shook Steve’s hand.  
“My pleasure, Master Steven.”

He watched as Steve walked off to the elevator, attracting more than a few stares from male and female passerby. Jarvis had to admit that the young man’s body was something of… a jaw-dropper.

* * *

 

The phone rang while Steve was munching on potato chips and relaxing after his shopping trip. The landline had multiple buttons that he had to press before finally answering the ringing.

“Hello?! Hello?”

Steve’s heart flipped as Darcy’s dry voice responded, “Never answer the phone. Never.”

“Psh, this is the last time, believe me.”

Steve endeavored to conceal his excitement at hearing from Darcy.

“Did you buy some clothes?”

“Yeah, I got a suit.”

“Just the one? Shit, I hope it’s appropriate.”

Steve laughed, retorting “I think it’s tasteful. Especially the assless chaps…. I’m joking.”

Darcy seemed tense, but her voice softened so Steve knew she wasn’t really worried.

“Let’s hope so. You’ll get more tomorrow. I’ll be pushed for time though, so meet me in the lobby of the hotel at seven forty-five sharp. Got it?”

Steve felt slighted by the brusqueness in Darcy’s tone. “No, I don’t “got it”. I know you’re the dame, but most ladies meet me at the door to pick me up before a date.”

A beat passed before Darcy tiredly responded.

“This is not a date, Steve.”

“Go by yourself then. Where are ya takin’ me anyways?”  
“The Rex.”

“Any good?”

“I think it’ll pass your impeccably high standards.”

Steve pretended to think about it, knowing that Darcy was fully annoyed with him by that point.  
“Alright. I guess I’ll meet you in the lobby, but only because you’re paying me to.”  
“Thank you very much.”  
Steve hung up, and settled back down with his chips. The phone rang once again, and he scrambled to pick it up.

“Hello?”

Darcy’s voice rang triumphant in his ear. “I thought I told you never to answer the phone?”

“Fuck!”

Steve hung up again.

* * *

 

Mr. Jarvis was still working behind the computer at the desk when a soft voice interrupted his reverie.

“What is it, Steven?”

“Darcy’s taking me to some nice place for dinner- called The Rex. Ever been?”

Mr. Jarvis paused his program and fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit out of my range, sir.”

“Mine too.” Steve leaned in towards Edwin, smelling strangely sweet for a man who looked like he’d been hitchhiking for days in his old outfit. “Listen, Ed, is this place normal?”

“I think you’ll find it normal enough.”  
“Will I like it?”

Steve looked oddly concerned, so Jarvis tried to allay his fears.

“I think so, yes.”

“Okay Eddie. You’re the best.”

Steve turned to leave, as Mr. Jarvis replied, “Just mind which fork you use.”

Jerking back to the desk, Steve whispered with horror: “Fork?”

After spending the better part of a half hour giving Steve a crash-course in formal dining etiquette, Mr. Jarvis sent him to the hotel salon to get his hair cut. In its current back-swept state, he looked horribly young.

Hopefully, with a trim and a proper shave, Steve would look old enough to avoid raising suspicions. Jarvis knew Ms. Darcy fairly well, had known her father _very_ well, and didn’t want her to be publically shamed for cavorting with… a hired man.

He did like Steve, though. The forthrightness was refreshing, he found. The nickname, not so much.

* * *

 

Darcy had changed into a simple gray cocktail dress at the office. Retouching her makeup took half-a-minute, and undoing her chignon lent her a slightly-tousled look. It was 7:47 when she strutted as fast as she could into the lobby of the hotel.

No Steve.

Irritated, she took out her phone and was dialing the room when an older man settled in front of her.

“Ms. Stark. Good evening.”

“Yes, Mr. Jarvis? I’m in a bit of a rush, I apologize.”

“I have a message from your young man, ma’am.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “My what?”

“The young man staying in your room, Ms. Stark.”

“I think we both know he’s not my ‘young man’, Mr. Jarvis.”

Jarvis fidgeted with discomfort as Darcy stared him down.

(She was called shark-like in the boardroom for a reason)

“Do you have a problem with my guest, Mr. Jarvis?”

“Ms. Stark, any guest of yours is a guest of ours, and shall be treated accordingly. The young man asked me to tell you that he was waiting in the lounge.”

“Thank you.” Darcy turned on her high heel and began to walk away.

“Very intriguing young man, Mr. Steven.”

Darcy stopped in her tracks, but Jarvis strolled back to his desk. She stalked to the lounge, wondering what the hell had transpired while she had been at work that day.

The soft tinkling of a piano soothed Darcy’s frayed nerves as she scanned the lounge for Steve. At first she couldn’t find him, but her gaze suddenly snapped to a broad-shouldered man in a beautifully-cut suit sitting at the bar.

Darcy tried to hide her surprise when Steve turned around and rose from his seat, elegant and lithe in a charcoal gray suit, paired with a spotless white dress-shirt and a navy tie that made his eyes impossibly blue. The outfit change had altered Steve somehow- made him seem bigger, less vulnerable. His hair was cut too, shorter and styled at the front. He looked sharper, somehow, and it helped calm Darcy’s nerves about the evening ahead.

“You’re late.”

A handsome man like Steve deserved an apology, in Darcy’s hazy mind, so she automatically apologized.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.” Steve smiled beatifically and held out his arm to Darcy.

She took it, enjoying the firm warmth of his forearm beneath her hand.

* * *

 

Darcy was already seated with Peggy Carter and her niece, Sharon, when Steve entered the dining area of the Rex. He had gone to the restroom to fidget with his tie and practice his place settings, just like Jarvis had taught him.

Steve moved gracefully down the staircase, his long legs casually eating up the floor before him. He navigated seamlessly to the secluded table where Darcy was attempting to charm the Carters.

A salad sat before each diner, and Steve reached for his salad fork with pride when he noticed Sharon Carter had already dug into her salad with the fork nearest to her plate. Confused, he glanced at Darcy and Peggy. Their salads were untouched, unfortunately, so Steve put his fork down too, and waited.

Peggy Carter, a robust woman for a nonagenarian, had carefully set white curls and a mouth painted red that spoke volumes about her personality. Steve was a bit surprised that she was British- he’d never met a British person before, and he liked the sound of her accent.

“So young lady, I understand you are trying to take over my company.” The abruptness of the question took everyone seated aback, including Darcy.

Almost smiling, Darcy leaned forward. “Please don’t patronize me, Ms. Carter. Our ages mean nothing here.”

Sharon and Peggy exchanged a glance, before the former spoke up.

“Ms. Stark, we already know that you’ve bought more than twenty percent of our stock. We also know that you plan to file a bid for a majority share.”

“Twenty-five percent, to be exact.”

Peggy seemed unfazed. “Ms. Stark, I know every person who’s ever worked for my company by their first name. I knew their spouses, their children. If your intention is to take my company and turn it into a glorified real estate deal, think again.”

Darcy, to Steve’s relief, finally reached for her salad fork and began to eat. Steve followed in suit, but the waiter came to clear their plates before he could finish.

“What do you suggest, Ms. Carter?”

“What would it take to buy our stock back? Name your price.”

Darcy considered for a moment. “Double what I paid would get me in the mood to sell. But your company lacks the capital to buy anything right now.”

Sharon piped up. “We're on the verge of closing a large navy contract. Double is ridiculous but we can assure you a healthy profit on your shares.  We would give you a promissory note...”

Darcy took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “You aren’t getting any navy contracts.”

Steve could tell that aunt and niece were both shocked by this news.

“There’s no way you could possibly know that!” The sound of Sharon sputtering made Steve’s appetite wilt, especially as the waiters set down a plate of what they called ‘escargot’ before each diner.

“But I do know. Your lines of credit are way overextended. If I don’t buy your company, someone else will.”

Steve softly asked the waiter what he’d just placed before him.

Darcy understood, and whispered, “snails”, to Steve’s horror. He took the snail-fork offered by the waiter and began to struggle anew with his dinner.

Peggy Carter was breathing heavily, her wrinkled hands grasping Sharon’s for support.

“You’ve got some nerve, Stark. No better than your father, nothing like your grandfather.”

Steve watched Darcy’s face shutter for a moment, then re-configure into a calm expression that scared him more than the snails.

“No, what I have is a lot of money, Ms. Carter. I got that from my father, and grandfather.”

“I know all about you, Ms. Stark. When you purchase companies, they have a way of disappearing. Even the pension funds are stripped clean! The last three companies you bought up were so cut-up that widows were left without their retirement check!”

Serenely, Darcy replied, “What I did with those companies was perfectly legal.”

“I don’t question the legality of what you do, Stark, it’s the morality! I will not allow my company to be savaged by someone like you!”

Darcy’s eyes turned to slits, finally showing her anger. “It’s not _your_ company, it’s a public one, and I’m going to acquire it. Either I buy from other stock holders or I buy from you. I would suggest that you cooperate with me, Ms. Carter. Rather that happen than you fight a battle you don’t have the ammunition to win.”

Steve accidentally sent a snail flying across the table, and everyone seated finally noticed his presence.

“Slippery little suckers, huh?”

Peggy Carter stood. “If you’ll excuse me, young man, Ms. Stark. Sharon, deal with this- you know where we stand. I need to go someplace and retch.”

Sharon waited for her aunt to leave before fixing Darcy with a gimlet eye.

“Women didn’t own fortune 500 companies before my Aunt Peggy. She broke a ceiling back then, and now you didn’t bang your head as hard heading up your daddy’s company today, Stark. People like her built this country- sure she screwed people, but for every person she screwed, she gave one hundred people good jobs.”

Darcy remained silent.

Steve remarked, “She seemed like a nice lady.”

“We can reach an understanding, Ms. Carter.”

Sharon stood and shot Darcy a dirty look. “I don’t think so. We’re going to fight with every resource we’ve got.”

“Do what you have to do, I don’t take it personally.”

Sharon grabbed her clutch and shook her head. “Well I do. I take it very personally. Very nice meeting you, Steve.”

Steve and Darcy were left in silence.

A beat passed.

“Well Steve, that’s the way the game’s played.”

Mildly disappointed in Darcy, Steve carefully chewed his snail before replying.

“Some game. Cheating an old woman out of her retirement check.”

Darcy flinched, the movement so minute Steve almost missed it.

The waiter asked if they were ready for their next course, but Darcy shook her head and handed over a card to pay the check.

Steve felt his half-empty stomach rumble and plaintively remarked, “Snails for dinner. No wonder everyone’s in sucha bad mood.”

* * *

 

Darcy was quiet as she drained a glass of champagne, gazing out the window of the hotel living room.

Steve stood next to her and refilled her glass without speaking.

“Thank you.”

“You’re upset, huh?”

Darcy glanced at him, affronted. “Upset? No, never upset about business.”

“You liked the old bird, though.”

“Whether I like her or not is irrelevant, Steve. In business there can’t be emotion- if you want to survive.”

“See, we’re exactly the same! Bucky keeps tellin’ me don’t get emotional when you turn tricks- that’s why no kissing- it’s too personal. The key is stayin’ numb, don’t get involved. When I do it with a girl or a guy, I’m a robot- I just do it.”

Steve saw Darcy’s eyebrow quirk up, and quickly amended his statement.  
“Except with you doll- at your price, I give it my all.”

Darcy laughed as Steve pressed against her back. “Let’s not talk about this heavy stuff- let’s relax.”

He began to rub her shoulders, delicate beneath his strong fingers. Steve slid the blazer Darcy had worn over her dress off, quietly massaging her.

“That feels… really good.” Darcy remained quiet as Steve turned her to face him. He unzipped the side of Darcy’s dress and slipped it down her waist. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and faced him in her bra and panties.  
“Know what we’re gonna do, Darcy? We’re gonna call Domino’s, and we’re gonna have ‘em deliver a big-ass pizza. We’ll eat it in bed. We’re gonna veg out and watch television.”

Darcy arched her neck. “Television?”

“Yeah, a box with movin’ pictures. They got HBO here, we can find a show with boobs and dragons.”

“I have work to do, Steve.”

Steve kissed her neck where the blood pulsed warmly beneath her skin.

“Uh-uh, no work.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Steve gently hugged Darcy and continued.  
“See, what you don’t get yet…”

He kissed Darcy’s shoulder, then fumbled with her bra fastening.

“…is that while you’re the boss everywhere else…I’m the one in charge here.”

Steve placed a kiss between Darcy’s breasts, then whispered in her ear, “You just think you are.”

He knelt before Darcy, warm hands resting on her hips. They exchanged a look, before Steve carefully tugged Darcy’s underwear down her legs.

Naked, Darcy smiled down at Steve.

Feeling something close to joy, Steve pressed his mouth to Darcy’s navel and began to mouth more kisses. She grabbed his shoulder immediately, squeezing hard as his lips traveled lower to her sex.

(Darcy saw stars that reminded her of New Mexico, unbearably bright but fleeting as the night.)

(She saw stars in Steve's eyes as he moved over her in bed to grab another slice of pizza)

(She saw stars when she rode Steve so hard that he accidentally ripped the bedsheets he'd been gripping for purchase)

(She saw stars when Steve's eyes fluttered shut as he climaxed with her for the third time that night)

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "BIG MISTAKE. BIG. HUGE."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school started and i'm so sorry this is short and late but never you worry bc good things to come!

Steve did most of his day’s work at night. It was part and parcel of being a sex worker in Hollywood, and he was used to the schedule- wake up around 3 or 4, do errands, eat, work out.

(Steve worked out a _lot._ It was a leftover from his days on the school football team, back when he thought he was going to college on scholarship).

Bucky had warned him early on never to start working before 10, because cops were less vigilant after-hours. It meant that Steve would shower and change into his uniform around 9, so he could be ready to go on Hollywood Boulevard by 10. He’d been doing pretty well of late, picking up multiple customers a night. A few handjobs here, a few blowies there- all in a night’s work. He was safe, he was cautious, and he knew how to incapacitate a threat with a single punch.

Around 3 or 4 AM, Steve would wrap up and meet Bucky at the corner for a smoke before walking home together. After another shower, Steve was in bed and asleep in minutes.

That was why Steve whined out-loud when Darcy poked at his bare bottom with something pointy.

“Up and at ‘em soldier. We have things to do today!”

Steve buried his head under his pillow as Darcy jabbed him with the mystery item once more.

“Five more minutes, Ma. I was up late studying.”

“Studying what? Human anatomy, Steven?”

Darcy dropped her butt-jabbing weapon next to Steve’s pillow, and walked over to her closet.

Peeking, Steve saw a black American Express card resting on the bed, and grabbed it. Slowly, he sat up and took stock of himself. Legs stretched out pleasantly on the giant bed, Steve blinked in the morning light.

Darcy stood before her mirror, dressed in a short robe that looked like it was made of silk. Her hair was down and still damp from her shower.

Quickly, Steve hopped out of bed to use the toilet and to brush his teeth. Darcy was still in her robe by the time he finished, brushing her hair with quick, brutal strokes.

Steve waited till she was finished, sitting on the floor and munching on a pizza-crust from the previous evening.

He liked the way Darcy’s body was shaped, especially for a lady much older than he.

She had phenomenal breasts, white and soft and obviously real. Nice arms too, and strong legs with shapely calves. Overall, Darcy was a beautiful woman, and Steve especially loved her round little tummy that stuck out ever so slightly.

She dropped the robe, and quickly stepped into a pair of panties that matched the bra that lay on the chair next to her. Steve handed her the bra and watched her maneuver herself into it, laughing as she cursed the straps.

Rising to help her, he asked, “So what’s the plan today, Darcy?”

“Time to shop, young Steven. I still don’t understand why you only bought one suit yesterday.”

Steve ducked his head so Darcy wouldn’t see his face. “It uh- wasn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you know those assholes who work in stores and try to intimidate you? It worked, yesterday.”

Darcy’s face was blank as she applied primer to her cheeks and asked, “Was someone rude to you?”

“I had a little problem in one store. I wasn’t dressed the right way, I didn’t know how to talk- I don’t belong there. I’ll probably go back to Clint, he was pretty alright.”

Darcy stopped blending foundation on her nose and turned to face Steve.

“Steve, you belong _wherever_ you are. I don’t care how you’re dressed. They were the ones who were wrong, not you.”

Darcy paused to finish her face, then took Steve’s hand in her own.  
“People aren’t going to respect you if you don’t respect yourself. The next time someone is rude to you, you stare at them right here.”

She placed Steve’s index finger on her face, right between her eyes.

“It’s an old trick I use, especially with sexist old goats. Works every time. Will you try it?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”  
Darcy finished her makeup while Steve showered and dressed.

She had her briefcase in hand when Steve stepped out of the bedroom, barefoot with wet hair.

“Please, come with me?”

Darcy glanced at her wristwatch, considering it. Steve crossed the room in three steps and covered the watch with his hand.

“Please.”

* * *

 

“I’d like that a little more fitted, don’t you think Darcy?”

Steve stood before a floor length mirror, modeling a pair of chinos that the salesman had brought for him moments before.

Darcy sat at the side of the room, tapping out emails on her cell-phone. Without pausing her typing, she glanced up to appraise the fit.

“Steve, I said conservative. If those pants get any tighter, you’re going to look borderline pornographic. Stick to the loose-cut, you can get them tailored after we’re done this week.”

Darcy went back to her email, trying to formulate a polite response to someone from Trump Towers asking for a partnership with Stark Industries. Unable to get past “ _No fucking thanks”,_ she put down the phone and watched as Steve tried on a button-down shirt the same color as his eyes. He was pretty magnificent, and last night had been wonderful and fun, two things she hadn’t experienced in over a decade. The salesman brought a pair of red slacks that complimented the shirt, and Darcy gave a thumbs up to the outfit.

The phone rang, as Obie’s stolid face stared up at her.

“Carter came out of her corner swinging. She started buying up all available stock as soon as the market opened.”

Eyes shut, Darcy murmured, “She’s a tough old bird, that’s for sure.”

“She’s asking for ten and quarter for the deal.”  
“Offer nine and a half, Obie, bring them back to Earth.”

Steve glanced hopefully at Darcy as he tried on an extremely tight cashmere sweater. She enjoyed the way the fabric strained to fit his pectoral muscles, but shook her head with self-restraint.

He pouted, but dutifully placed the sweater in the reject pile.

“Goddamit! Where is she getting the money to fight, Darce?”

“Someone’s loaning it to her- find out who.”

“Our contract guys are working on the Carter pension funds. That’s forty million dollars we can bleed dry.”

Darcy watched Steve strike a ridiculous pose in a short-sleeved button down with a sweater vest, and something tightened in her chest.

“Put the pension funds on hold. Indefinitely.”

She could hear Obie’s mouth drop. “Really, we’re gonna let them slide?”

“I want the treatment plant licenses to top your priority list.”

“But…”  
“No buts, Obie. Licenses.”  
Without waiting for a response, Darcy ended the call and stood.

Steve came to her, radiating well-being and pleasure.

“You’re on your own, Steve. Get what you like, I trust your judgment.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Darcy, and squeezed so tight she couldn’t breathe for a second.

* * *

 

Walking down Rodeo Drive wasn’t so bad when one was wearing the right outfit. Steve strutted down the sidewalk in casual white slacks and a gray chambray shirt, old boots replaced with sleek black John Varvatos.

He had sent his purchases back to the hotel via courier, but carried his old clothes in a plastic bag. The worn jeans and boots weren’t his favorites, but Steve still dangled the bag over a trashcan and deliberated over tossing them out.

Finally, he let go, and the bags landed among the trash.

Steve _liked_ money. He liked the way it felt walking down the street, carrying expensive shopping bags filled with even more expensive clothing. He’d returned to the department store, where Clint had happily helped him select underwear, hosiery, and other accessories.

He bought another suit, more formal than the last, and chose ties every color under the sun with handkerchiefs to match.

As he sipped on soda water and explored the women’s area, much, much later in the afternoon, Steve stopped short at a makeup display. A bright array of lipsticks arranged in the shape of a flower caught his eye. One lipstick, the color of blood, stood out. Without thinking, Steve picked it out and paid for it. It was _utterly_ Darcy, and he couldn’t wait to go home, to the hotel, to gently glide the lipstick over her lips, and then…

(but he wasn’t allowed to kiss clients, he wasn’t allowed to get intimate, to _feel_ things)

* * *

 

The sun was starting to lower in the sky when Steve almost passed by the shop he had gone to yesterday. He took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to enter the store. The same salesman from yesterday, Phil, was helping a leggy redhead. “This dress would look lovely on you, Ms. Potts.”

Steve mustered his failing courage and approached the salesman.

“Scuse me.”

Both the salesman and his customer looked up.

“Yes?” Phil’s smile was pleasant, his tone amiable.

“Do you remember me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“I was in here yesterday.”

Steve slowly raised his middle finger, and watched as recognition lit the salesman’s eyes. His courage flared again.

“Yeah. That’s right, it’s me. I want you to know something. You made me feel terrible yesterday. I wasn’t dressed right and you told me I didn’t belong here. Well, I do. You’re the one that was wrong, not me. And you know what else? I’m never going to shop here again. You made a big mistake. Big. Huge. I’ve got to go shopping now.”

Steve turned on his heel and strode out of the shop, grinning to himself as he heard the customer swiftly strutting after him in her high-heeled shoes.

* * *

 

Mr. Jarvis was arguing on the phone with a florist when he saw young Master Steve walk into the hotel lobby. Behind him, a bellhop staggered, arms laden with shopping bags. Without realizing, a broad smile had stretched across his face, and he couldn’t recall why the long-stemmed roses that the florist had sent were so inappropriate.

 


End file.
